Here is a darker, gothic version of the Jack and Jill nursery rhyme:
Jack and Jill went up the hill, shadows creeping as the sun fell, To fetch a pail of water from the old stone well. But something lurked atop that hill that night. Jack felt a frightful chill run down his spine. He turned to Jill, but she was already gone, taken by the darkness that had risen. Jack searched frantically, his lantern casting shadows that leapt and loomed. Then his foot snagged a rock and he tumbled down, cracking open his head in the blackened brush. As he staggered up, addled and bleeding, he spied Jill’s abandoned pail lying cold in the moonlight. And then he heard it, her scream piercing the night air, rising from the well below. Jack limped home, pale and haunted, to dress his wounds as best he could. But Jill did not return, having met a darker fate that hangs over the old hill still. The well remains, though none dare draw water, for fear of what lurks inthe midnight shadows evermore.
Here is a gothic horror version of “The Queen of Hearts” nursery rhyme:
The Queen of Hearts, her soul twisted and dark, Baked blackened tarts with poison and bark, Serving her court on a bleak winter’s eve. But the Knave had a scheme her treats to thieve.
As the pale moon rose over the thornwood trees, The Knave crept to the Queen on hand and knees. To the kitchen he slid through shadows so stark, And stole the foul tarts she had set out to mark.
When the court gathered round for her meal so vile, The Queen saw her tarts had vanished meanwhile. The King through the castle sent his guards so strong, To find the cursed thief who had done such wrong.
The guards found the Knave, hiding with his prize, And dragged him before the Queen’s wrathful eyes. She pronounced a dark sentence to settle the score – “Off with his head! And throw him to the boars!”
The axe fell with a thud, the Knave’s death swift and cruel. As ravens feasted, circling the blood-soaked tool. The Queen with cold heart simply licked her red lips, With revenge now hers, she cared not who was hit.
So think twice, little one, before crossing the Queen – For she’ll stop any rebellion before it is seen. All those who dare steal from her had best quickly flee… If they want to keep breath inside them, or their head on their neck.
Here is a gothic horror version of “Hickory Dickory Dock”:
The old grandfather clock in the decaying mansion wheezed as its cobweb-coated gears slowly turned. As the clock prepared to chime the bewitching hour, a tiny mouse crept from its hole, compelled by some dark magic. Skittering through the inky shadows, it climbed the clock’s antique wooden frame, drawn by forces unknown.
As the clock began to groan midnight’s ghoulish song, the tiny mouse reached the top, quivering. The clock’s rotten wood suddenly split and sharp, jagged hands emerged to grasp the helpless creature. The mouse emitted a blood-curdling squeak as it struggled vainly in the hands’ deepening grip.
As the twelfth chime echoed forebodingly through the rooms below, the possessed clock savagely slammed shut. Down, down went the mouse inside the hellish darkness of the clock. A sickening crunch rang out, followed by the clock’s bottom swinging open and a crimson, mangled mess spilling to the floor with a stomach-churning splat.
Then all was silent once more, except for the steady, hypnotic ticking inside the clock. Luring the next hapless victim to their dark fate…once the clock begins to mock…hickory…dickory…dock!
